


You are not Ophelia

by BamSara



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Background Willowson if you squint, Brotherly Wx-78, But they're still mean, Gen, Other DST characters mentioned, Platonic Wx-78/Wendy bonding, Return of them Beta, Suicide Attempt, Wendy is not okay, Wx-78 is NB, a bit OOC, angst with happy ending, suicidal character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BamSara/pseuds/BamSara
Summary: Wendy is either bored or impatient, because for the first time, she speaks up. “Take solace in the fact that if you sink, I too, will follow.”There’s an easier way to tell someone you don’t know how to swim, but Wx-78 is pretty sure that human corpses can float.----Or, the story where Wx dies once, revives, and fears passing once more as they sail across the ocean in search of a island made from the piece of the moon with nothing but a map and a little girl who holds no fear of death





	You are not Ophelia

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This drabble contains subjects that may not be suitable for some readers, including a suicide attempt. There's angst and decriptions of a character being in pain/nearly dying, so be warned.  
> So anyways, I have lots of ideas for fics, especially with all the stuff that's being introduced in DST. The Return of Them Beta has offered so much good content to play around with and honestly I'm excited. Oh, and y'all can rip the sibling dynamic duo of Wx-78 and Wendy from my cold dead hands.

Rain is a horrible, horrible thing. A no-good useless thing, as all water is. It hydrates and heals organics, helps nature grow and thrive. Overrated. Slides through their gears and frazzles their wires, sparks and errors and brings unwelcome viruses to their system of translucent shadows and teeth and eyes and death.

Death was such a _human_ thing. Wx-78 has no interest in it.

The others spend quite a long time thinking and talking about death. Their interest borders on fascination, obsession even. Whether it’s noting which stone has been touched and which hasn’t, how many ugly flesh statues have been put up, the sound of those god-awful beating hearts (The robot will never have one. Never. Not in their ‘life’.) or the anomaly within those amulets.

Obsession or not, death is a constant variable. The scientist himself is partakes so much Wx-78 is beginning to believe that his experiments end badly on purpose for the sole sake of researching resurrection. The other organics don’t seem to like it.

Dying is common. It’s to be expected of the weak. And yet, despite repeating the same scenario again and again and again, there is always a look in their face when they end. Fear. Even though they know they’ll wake up soon or be revived, they are always _afraid_.

Save for one.

Wendy looks up with a deadpan expression, water trailing off the edge of the straw hat she’s been given, and merely blinks. “What shall I engrave upon your tombstone, Unliving?”

A ghost, not unlike in sight of her sister, but obviously not of a human being, wisps wildly in anger and distant sounds of haunting. The blonde ignore’s the robot’s cursing and looks down to the ‘bones’ on forest floor. They looked human alright, but a little closer and you could see way it was too smooth and slight rusted to be made of bone. The framework of a robot, bare to the world. Gears have tumbled to the side in their death, the upgrades they’ve worked (stolen) so hard for.

The ‘bones’ are soaked as along with the rest of the robot’s items skewed all over the place. There is no blood nor oil, no bite marks or fractures in the metal body structure, no clear indication of the cause of death.

Though, the rain pours loudly around her, and she can take an educated guess. “The sky weeps and have brought you down in it’s sorrow.” She muses. “I will plant Crinum flowers atop your grave.”

Wx-78 tries to argue, to be the usual annoyance they are, but their voice is no more coherent than the whispers in the back of her mind when Abigail floats around her head, looking back from the remains to the newly formed ghost. She laughs a little at their swearing, whispering greetings and teasings of a childlike nature.

Wendy shushes her. “I envy you. Would you like to come back to the realm of the living? Or stay in the form you’ve taken?” She asks them in  such a casual tone. “Abigail won’t mind having another like her.”

Wx-78 cannot give her an expression worthy of description, their features too see-though to note, but their noises become louder and more aggressive. The girl tilts her head. “I see.”

She then spins on her heel, a silent command for both ghosts to follow and travels to the North in the forest. Past Normal Trees, the catcoon den, the pig house that Wx-78 had originally planned to demolish before the sodding rain began, and brings herself to a little, pitiful spider nest.

The robot can do nothing but watch as she crafts a spear through muscle memory, setting foot on the webbing and waiting for the creatures of the constant to start flooding out. Abigail is quick and efficient, they can give her kudos for that, taking down a bundle of spiders at once while Wendy shifts through their carcasses and cuts through their dead flesh, searching for a gland that’s still intact.

She finds one, and begins to promptly walk away from the nest before Abigail is even done wrecking havoc apron nest. Pitful, they would have liked to see more spiders die.

Wendy is not one for idle chatter, but she muses to herself as she brings the spear over her hand. “Do tell me what’s it like.” She mummers, slicing the skin in her palm and letting the heart form. There’s a wince, hardly noticeable but the robot detects it. “Not being alive in both ‘life’ and death must be a blessing.”

She holds the heart out to them, expectation written on her expression. Wx-78 hesitates to take it. It beats in her hand, blood and rain mixing in lines down to her elbow. Such a gross, human thing. A weak, pulsating thing.

Wx-78 ignores the irony when they reach for it. (They see a flicker in her eyes as they revive, a look of intense fascination, that look darting to her sister. To herself.)

The robot’s back hits the forest ground with a heavy thud. All systems are functional again, though the rain still pouring down it won’t be long until they are as glitched and ruined before. Without a thought to process, they jump to the ground, ignoring the twin’s presences as they swing their backpack around their chassis and scramble to pick up whatever supplies wasn’t soaked.

A soft noise reaches their audio processors, and Wx-78 detects something being placed atop their head. A pause, a reading, and a metal hand comes up to feel the damp straw hat, water falling off of it in rivets.

They look up. Wendy stands patiently, her hand still bleeding. Abigail watches with muted interest.

Their optical sensors dart to the bloodied hand and back up to her dead expression again. “I WILL NOT DESTROY YOU TODAY.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “How unfortunate.”

She leaves it at that, turning back around and heading off in the direction they assumed is what she originally planned before stumbling upon the robot and their remains. Without a word of goodbye or even a good luck, obviously no ‘Thank you’, Wx-78 darts to the forest, taking shelter underneath the canopy of the trees with renewed vigor and hammer in hand.

* * *

It is nearing the end of spring that Wx-78 is fully upgraded again, their systems at full power with the gears they’ve acquired. Whether or not they were gotten legitimately or stolen was not important. They were superior. They deserved them. They were stronger and faster, smarter and more resilient, no monster could destroy them.

The human’s are not impressed in the slightest. “We could have really used another icebox, you know.” The firestarter makes a snide remark, waltzing into their little space in the camp. Walls were put up around Wx-78 tent, their belongings safe inside, bee traps outside the flap. No trespassing.

The robot doesn’t look up from the spear that they’re repairing. “ICE BOXES ARE FOR FLESHINGS WHO CAN’T STOMACH SPOILED FOOD. SPOILED FOOD IS JUST AS GOOD.”

The woman frowns, hands on her hips. (Willow was her name, but that wasn’t important. Minions didn’t need names.) The ears of a teddy bear stick out from her backpack, and Wx-78 momentarily thinks about stealing it. She opens her mouth to speak again, but is beaten to it. “WHY DO YOU BOTHER ME?”

“We’re going sailing again today.” She tells them. The slight disgust in her voice is not unnoticed. Relatable. “Wilson swears there’s something out there. He caught a glimpse of it last week, but had to come back before it sunk.”

The metal in their facial expression twists into a squint. “WHY SHOULD THIS CONCERN ME?”

“We need you to come with us this time-”

The robot stands with lightening speed, spear clutched in one hand and a deadly look in their stance. “DENIED.”

Willow does not falter, only glancing down to the pointed tip with mock offense. “It’ll only be for a day. We’ve already got the boats for it. Taking multiple, in fact, if anything goes wrong. I don’t like this any more than you do but Wilson’s convinced there’s some way to get out of the Constant on the island-”

“YOU ARE PREMEDITATING MURDER.” They interrupt her, a metal hand coming up to point in accusation. “I WILL NOT BOARD THE HORRIBLE BOAT ON THE HORRIBLE OCEAN AND YOU AND THE OTHER ORGANICS CAN DROWN A WATERY DEATH.”

A shudder goes through her. She hates water just as much as they do, but it doesn’t hurt her. Not physically, at least. Her fire dries her off. Water doesn't corrupt and damage their system. She’s relatable, but she could never understand.

“We won’t drown. We’re super prepared and we’ll be in groups. As long as you don’t crash into anything by steering like a dumbass-” Willow is trying to reason with them, but it suspiciously sounds like an insult. “-then you should be fine.”

Wx-78 is still tense. “NEVER.”

Willow pauses for a moment. “The island is a piece of the moon.”

A robot does not falter. There is no such thing for such human fidgets. No motions of being taken by surprise or interest, but there is no denying in the sudden widening of their eyes-sockets at her words. Metal bends and the spear is lowered, thinking for a moment. Processing the risks. The rewards.

“I LIKE THE MOON.” They say after a long moment. “I DEMAND TO BE CAPTAIN.”

The fire woman huffs something but the robot ignores her completely, leaning back up against the stone wall to sharpen the tip of the spear.

* * *

The next morning, Wx-78 finds the others at the edge of the waterside, and is surprised and suspicious to find not one horrible boats but two of them.

Four other figures stand at attention; the scientist, fiddling with a bundle of maps, the firestarter thumbing over her teddy bear, the overall’s fleshing, checking the masts on one of the boats, and the bereaved, sitting simply on the side, looking out onto the water. Looking out onto her reflection.

Wx-78 catches a glimpse of themselves across the water surface and flinches away from the slight ripple in it’s features.

“We’ll go out in pairs. Me and Willow will take to the West, both of you take to the East.” Wilson speaks up, holding out a map for the robot to take. “It’ll be easier to find if we split up this way.”

They snatch the map, giving it a quick scan over before eyeing him warily, not missing the catch in his sentence. “BOTH?”

“Wendy’s coming with you.” Wilson looks over to the blonde. The robot dully notes that the spectral spirit of her sister is absent for the time being. “Originally, Winona was going to be your partner. But…”

“Hounds got me last night. Still haven’t recovered.” The overalls woman stands from her position on the boat, hopping the short distance from the wood back to land. She has a wide smile, though she holds up both of her arms for show and their opticals note the honey poultice wrapped from the palms of her hands to the elbows, yellow and red seeping through the bandages. “Can’t row like this. Can’t steer like this either. I’d be even worse if the thing started sinking and needed a patch up. Sorry, bot.”

Said robot ignores the injuries and looks to the boat. “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Wendy knows what to do. Taught her myself.” The scientist busies himself with putting the last of the preparations on a chest on their own boat, settling behind the steering wheel. He gestures for Willow to join him, though the brunette hesitates, eyes darting to where the land ends and the water begins. He sighs, running a hand through spiky hair. “She’s capable. She can handle the repair if something goes wrong. All you need to do is play navigator.”

Call Wx-78 paranoid, but being partnered with a beta organic to set sail on a horrible boat across a deadly abyss with nothing but a couple of wooden boards strewn together to keep them from sinking to the ocean floor was NOT looking good in their predictable outcome simulator.

A chunk of the moon was so, so tempting, but this was pushing it. “I WANT THE FIRESTARTER MINION COME WITH ME INSTEAD.”

Wilson gives them a look that borders on unfriendliness. He reaches a hand out to said woman, letting her grasp a hold and hoisting her up on their designated boat, allowing the scientist to situate her in the middle. The gentleman doubly checks with her, muttering something in hushed voices. She frowns at something he says and pulls the lighter out, letting the flame run over her fingers.

With a turn, Wilson faces them again. “I don’t think having two hydrophobic people on the same boat would end well.”

“I’m not hydrophobic. I just hate it. I’m not afraid of it!” Willow is quick to put her own two cents in. Regardless, a quick scan tells Wx-78 that her body language is twitchy, her demeanor nervous. It’s amusing to watch her fidget.

Wendy has not looked up from the water once in their conversations. The robot dully notes that her attire has changed, forgoing her usual skirt and shirt to something more breezy, made for sea-fare weather. A blue shirt much too big for her drapes over her form. If memory served correctly, it belonged to Willow at some point. She didn’t care for the color.

Winona doubly checks the second boat before hopping off, throwing a thumbs up and grin in their direction. “She’s all set. I’d get out of here before the sun goes down. Everything you folks will need will be on the boat.” Wilson mutters in agreement as she points to a chest next to the mast. “Word of advice? Don’t eat any seaweed.”

“I WILL NOT BE EATING ANY WEED OF THE SEA.” Wx-78 states.

In the background, they can hear Willow snort. The scientist hushes her, stepping off momentarily only to help Wendy upon the boat before returning to his again. (He leaned down to ask her something that their audio processor couldn’t pick up, concern in his features. Though, the girl merely looks up at him with an explainable expression and shrugs. He pulls back, unsatisfied but doesn’t push the notion further.)

“Time to go. Three day trip, tops.” Wilson faces the group, confidence radiating off of him. Whether it’s false or not, the robot cannot tell and doesn’t care enough to ponder over. “If you don’t run into it, just sail back to this spot and we’ll try out a new area. In other word, happy sailing.” He nods more over to Wendy than to Wx. “To the both of you.”

The departure doesn’t hold anything more than another thumbs up from Winona and Wilson raising anchor, sending their boat off with a wave and a gust of wind. There’s hesitance, strong hesitance indeed before Wx-78 steps forwards to the edge of the water, glaring at this rickety, pathetic, horrible contraption that was supposed to keep them safe from a watery grave.

They didn’t trust it. They didn’t trust it at all.

Wendy is either bored or impatient, because for the first time, she speaks up. “Take solace in the fact that if you sink, I too, will follow.”

There’s an easier way to tell someone you don’t know how to swim, but Wx-78 is pretty sure that human corpses can float.

* * *

If they thought the rain was bad, this was an entirely new nightmare.

Everything was absolutely horrendous. Everything was either wet, slimy, or an evil bird that likes to swoop down and steal the meatball Wx had in their hands, flying off in a bout of puffy feathers just to sit somewhere else on the water a distance away, floating in piece as they ate their prize. Out on the ocean, far from where Wx-78 could go and wring their skinny necks.

They hated it. As expected.

Wendy has yet to show any sort of opinion on the last day of their journey.

She is silent most of the time, only speaking up in the usual quiet, reserved tone to warn them of a far off sea-rock or reef. (And Wx steers them completely around the area instead of trying to navigate through. Longer, but there’s no room to take risks, and they do not owe the fleshing an explanation come her odd looks.)

She does most of the rowing. Actually, she does all of it. The robot refuses to leave the middle of the boat and Wendy often finds herself becoming more and more acquainted with the smell of the sea water drenching her skirt or seaweed getting caught in her oar.

She does an adequate job, though sh’s not strong, as well as she is alone. The twin’s ghost has yet to reappear and it’s safe to assume that she is ‘resting’, as the blonde once called it. Tucked safely in her pocket, there must be a flower trying to bloom.

The girl is absently playing with seaweed, weaving it together in some sort of mock flower-crown when they realize that enough time has passed that her sister must be ready to come play. But here is no other potential victim around that could be sacrificed. Aside from Wx-78 of course. But puny fleshlings can be easily overpowered.

“Night is falling.” Wendy calls out, not looking at them, just speaking to the air. She’s gotten a habit of that, whether her sister was present or not. “We have yet to find the moon’s island.”

“THAT’S BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT ROWING SUFFICIENTLY ENOUGH.” Wx-78’s voice is loud as ever. “WORK HARDER.”

Despite all of it, the ocean and the annoyances and fear (Yes, fear. Not of death…but of everything else that surrounded their pathetic little raft.) Wx-78 is fully determined to find the land. A piece of the moon, all theirs for the taking. A place of solace for a robot of their nature. A superior base will be made there. A place where they rule without pesky organics to bother them.

It would be a horrible shame if three days spent on this hellish ocean were all but for nothing.

Wendy is obviously not affected by their jab, content with wringing the seaweed around her wrist and gazing at it thoughtfully. “No matter how hard I fight the waves, I cannot best against the ocean’s power.”

The robot groans. Theatrics were not appreciated. “FIGHT IT HARDER.”

She glances at them. “Do you wish me to kill the water, as the water would kill you?”

“I WANT MY MINION TO DO IT’S JOB AND ROW ME TO THE MOON ISLAND.” They stop steering, if not only to lean forwards in aggression, hands on hips. “I DID NOT ASK TO BE PARTNERED WITH A SCRAWNY FLESHING UNABLE TO HOLD HER OWN.”

The look Wendy gives them is a solemn one, though it’s not much of a difference from her usual expression. “Shame. I asked to come.” A pause. “I asked for you.”

The robot stops, processes the sentence and wracks their AI for an formidable explanation. It does not offer any. “WHY.”

“The scientist talks too much, his mind is frail against his own ambition for knowledge. The fire woman is a task to keep him occupied. A warmth he needs, and a stability she will find in him, more than these rocky waters.”

A poetic sentence, but it only serves Wx-78 to whip their head around, searching for sea-rocks at the mention, and metal turning into a frown as they realize the boat is in the clear. Wendy doesn’t miss their agitation, but says nothing, dipping her hand into the water and watching the ripples trail from her fingertips. “They need each other’s company.”

“THERE WERE OTHERS.” Wx-78 states matter-of-fact, a trace of scrutiny in their response. Others being camp mates clearly capable of sailing. Even if Winona wasn’t available, there must have been someone with the free time to go on the journey. Someone better than a little girl and a robot on a horrible, horrible ocean.

Wendy doesn’t break her focus. “I wanted to be alone. I did not want to be around the living for long.”

There’s an illogical sense in her statement, but they don’t dwell on it as the last of the night falls and the robot reaches over to light the lantern situated in the middle of the boat, illuminating them boat. With mast down and anchor dropped, (they both needed to rest, and drifting in the sea whilst one partner was asleep did not yield good results in their predictability programming.)

The robot eyes her in the dim lighting and resists the urge to laugh at her poor reasoning. They fail at it. “DESIRE IMPOSSIBLE. I AM HERE.”

She glances at them, standing from her perch. A hand reaches into her pocket, and something is placed gently to the wooden floorboard of the boat. “You do not count as a living being. At least,” The girl ponders for a moment, a tiny twitch in her eyes, as if surprised the robot is actually letting her continue her out loud wondering. “You do not count, Unliving.”

Of course they didn’t count. They were sentient. They were not afraid of death. (Water, of course, is a different situation.) They were not organic, with organic needs and organic desires. They were a machine, capable of evil, tremendous things and destruction, with not pity nor empathy to spare for a breathing creature across this Constant. They were not ‘alive’, not like her, or the rest of the filthy fleshlings for that matter.

Wx-78 know this, but her casual statement somehow still makes them angry. “I SHOULD THROW YOU INTO THE SEA FOR YOUR UNCALLED FOR COMMENTARY.”

“No need.” She fiddles with the seaweed wrapped around her wrist. Abigail’s flower floats next to her feet. “I trust you know the way back.”

They squint at her, optical darting from the flower to the girl. A step closer, and the tips of her shoes are hanging off the edge of the boat. “Ophelia, I'm coming.”

It suddenly occurs to Wx-78 that the only other potential sacrifice around for her sister’s ritual was Wendy herself.

“ _STOP-_ ”

A fateful step, and there is a splash of water, and a millisecond of silence and the one thousand files and thoughts processing through them the speed of lightning of different scenarios, solutions and fear as Wx-78 watches Wendy disappear underneath a sea holding unimaginable terrors.

A millisecond is a long time for a robot to think.

If she dies, she’ll come back as a ghost, and ghosts can always be revived. (Her sister couldn’t, and they were so close.) There would be more food, less talking, they could possibly keep searching for the moon’s island. (The others would rip out their wires for this.) They knew the way home, the mast was enough to get them there. (She needed to row. It was faster that way. It was faster to land.)

She did this to herself and this is what she wanted. (The ocean is vast and the sky is dark.) They are, under no obligation, to save her or her sister, and by all means should push the glowing flower into the water and watch it sink under neath the blue (The waves crash against the boat and there’s ripples coming from where she’s fallen in.)

Wx-78 was evil, evil robot with an intense hatred for flesh and there is no reason to save her and there was no reason to care (please don’t leave me alone on this boat please don’t leave me alone on the ocean plEASE DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE _PLEASE DON’T PLEASE DON’T-_ )

They’ll blame it on a glitch later.

A hard lunge forward, Wx knocks over the lantern in their dive and their body skids to the other end of the boat, scanning over the spot where Wendy sunk beneath the water and finding no sign of blonde hair in the dark.

A full second has passed. Abigail’s flower has yet to summon her. Wx-78 braces themselves and shoves their arm into the water.

Oh, the **pain**.

It’s difficult, oh so incredibly difficult when their body is screaming with errors and their limb feels alien and hard to control and the motor in their chest is working overtime, finger splayed in the wet, foreign substance that they hoped to never, ever experience. A worst nightmare, one they’ve plunged their fist into not out of spite, but for fear. (And that is so human, so weak and they hate it and they despise the feeling of liquid and the pain and an empty grasp-)

A third second passes and their hands close around something cloth like, a weight sinking downwards with it and threatening to pull the robot under themselves.

But Wx-78 is stronger, fully upgraded (At least, mostly. That arm will not be functional for a while after this) and quite literally _yanks_ the child from the clutches of the sea and hell-knows-what awaited to grab her in the seconds that would have been too late.

It’s only when she’s tossed against the flooring of the raft does the robot let go. She’s soaked and her face is scrunched up, no rise from her chest and they think she’s not breathing, until she gasps for air and her eyes fly open. Shocked to see the stars. Shocked to still be alive.

A haze falls over them, and Wendy looks to Wx-78 and the arm they clutch, water running all through the circuits. Shocked and defeated. “…I didn’t think you-”

“DESIRE IMPOSSIBLE. I AM HERE.” Wx-78 repeats. Their voice box doesn’t change from the monotone, but it somehow sounds harsher. A sputtering glitch, almost like human hiccups plagues the sentence. “NOW WE ARE _EVEN_.”

They rip the seaweed still wrapped around her wrist away, tosses it somewhere into the murky ocean before grabbing Abigail’s still floating flower and shutting it away into their chassis.

* * *

The sail way home is a short and silent trip, and arriving back to the main island comes to show that Wilson and Willow’s trip had proved to be much more fruitful than their own.

Moon rocks, blueprints, a captured insect of moth variety and various notes on glass, creatures and other entities that resided on the island they found (and on their second day, no less) are compiled on their raft, free from damage and expertly sailed. (That apparently didn’t stop Willow from dive bombing the ground and setting all grass alight around her in some sort of mock snow angel with fire. The indentation of her body is still scorched into the earth.)

The librarian, The former king and the Overall fleshlings meet them as they dock, and Wx-78 has a new found respect for solid ground, even though covered by nature and organic alike, there was a safety in it. They crowd them at first, seeing that their adventure was less than satisfactory before leaving to speak to Wilson, whom is talking quite excitedly about something of ‘forbidden knowledge’ being whispered to him upon the island.

Winona is the only one that lingers behind, glancing down to their rusting arm. Wendy has slunk away, unnoticed and without a sound.

“What happened to you?” The woman raises a brow, eyeing their limb with an interest that doesn’t feel quite comfortable with the robot. Said robot is not in a mood to entertain such question nor are they obliged to even grace their minions with an answer, so they just shove past the factory worker and stomp away. Back to their secured place in camp, shutting out the world within their tent and cursing the absolute audacity of these humans.

Little sparks spur up from their wrist and elbow joints, salt water not have been kind to their inner workings. Healing salve does nothing but agitate their circuits and dragon fruit pie felt heavy in their chemical engine, but did nothing to heal the metal that’s begun to rust over. Odd, how time works here.

Wx-78 is beginning to wonder if dying would reset their arm back to it’s functional state when their audio processors pick up the sound of pitter patter feet outside their tent.

They do not hold patience today. A spear is grabbed, with full intention of chasing away the newcomer and they burst from the tent. “INTRUDER ALERT: LEAVE PREMISE OR DIE.”

Wendy looks up from the wrapping she holds, expression unaffected by their outburst. Abigail is floating nearby, closer towards the robot than they’d be comfortable with. The spear lowers, but doesn’t drop. “….WHAT DO YOU WANT.”

The girl doesn’t answer right away. She squints at them, though not in scrutiny, but in thought. Searching for words. “An audience with the evil overlord of the Constant.”

Metal bends in their face, they stare at her for a long moment until it becomes clear that they won’t chase her from their station. The spear drops is set up against a stone wall, said robot crossing their arms (well, to the best of their ability) and making a non-committal noise. “MAKE IT QUICK.”

She fidgets. Abigail whispers something in her ear. Words that cannot be decypherd by them, but whatever is said makes Wendy take a deep breathe. The wrapping is held outwards to them, opticals scan over it in question.

A glitch runs up their limb. The spazz is uncomfortable enough to make them unfurl their arms “WHAT.”

“An offering.” She tells them. “And an apology.”

Apologies are for weak, weak humans, much like herself. Though, this was out of character, Wx-78 was uncertain if the smaller fleshling’s sanity was still questionable from their time out on the water. Gifts, however, are to be questioned.

They swipe it from her hands with their good arm, struggling to open the package with one set of fingers, letting out low cursing in binary until a smaller, paler hand comes forward and pulls back on the wax paper, revealing the contents to them both.

A collection of gears. Springs, nuts, bolts, all the things needed for an upgrade of their system. Or at least a proper repair.

“It was Abigail’s idea.” Wendy says very quickly.  “She knows what you did.”

Silence, a pause between them. Wx-78 shifts through the new material, inspecting every single piece with careful precision. When they look back up to her, there is no more hostility in their stance. Confusion, however, is evident.

Graves have been ransacked, the caves have been explored. There should be no more gears left for the taking. (Wx has made doubly sure about this.) “HOW DID YOU-”

“The origins are not important.” Her shoes are scruffed with dirt, and though Wendy does not take her eyes off them, Abigail glances towards the direction where Winona is heavily invested in conversation with another survivor. “Do you accept my offering?”

The robot is already removing bits and pieces of their arm that they no longer keep to function, settling in pieces as replacement. “OFFERING IS ACCEPTABLE.” A glance upwards. “I DEMAND ANOTHER CONDITION AS YOUR APOLOGY.”

Her brows twitch, a deadpan blink. “What would that be-”

“YOU DO THAT AGAIN, AND I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF.” They start off strong. The usual evil-robot demeanor has come back full force. Wendy raises a brow, opens her mouth to retort but is cut off once again. “YOUR DEATH WOULD HAVE BEEN AN UNNECESSARY INCONVENIENCE TO ME.”

She holds their stare before blank blue eyes drift to the sparking arm held a their side. “An unnecessary inconvenience.” She repeats under her breathe. “No one truly dies here. What worth made that decision for you?”

Wx-78 suddenly feels very exposed. They jab a metal finger in her direction, black eye sockets narrowing. “GO AWAY.”

Wendy looks at them for a little while longer. Her usual deadpan expression is present, but there’s something different about it this time. A slight dart of the eyes. A shuffle of her feet. Not nervousness, but something else. Abigail encircles her in comfort, her sister wallowing in embarrassment. _Ashamed_.

“Thank you.” The words are muttered so quietly Wx-78 almost doesn’t hear them.

A quick turn, and she’s a few steps past the stone walls when the robot speaks up just before she leaves the range. “YOU WERE…” a pause, a guttural noise, like it takes actual effort to wring the sentence out. Compliments were not what they were known for, and good reason. “YOU WERE AN ACCEPTABLE BOATING PARTNER. 93.8% OF THE TIME.”

Wendy looks back at them. Her face falters for a split second, eyes widening a fraction. Then it falls back to her usual expression, and she gives no vocal response, only a faint nod in return.

She leaves them to their repairs.. Abigail lingers, for a moment, staring at Wx-78 with a feeling that is not unkind, before following suit.

**Author's Note:**

> Extra note: In case you didn't know, Ophelia is a character in Hamlet, by William Shakespeare. Suffering from grief and madness from her father's death, she fell into the river while picking flowers and slowly drowned. Wendy's quotes mention her often when inspecting ponds/when the DST boat is sinking.


End file.
